Mittwoch, 16. Januar 2013

There comes a time in our lives when we wish we could turn back the hands of time, but then, we get confused because there are many lovely experiences littered over the years and we don’t know which one to choose. At this point of my life I feel like turning back the hands of time, but contrarily to my preamble, I know exactly what week I need to go back to. 8.12.2012. That is the date I’d choose if I could go back in time because it was a unique week— mark that unique is an understatement here, because words cannot do justice to the ineffable time I had in Nairobi. Kojo Laing says you cannot live in a place without that place having an impact on you, so in a way, Nairobi has left an imprint on me.

I must confess that my sojourn started in a somewhat murky manner. After a lot of bureaucracy which ended in “missing” documents and last minute authorization, I boarded an airplane to Nairobi. Before I boarded the plane, a guy at Kenyan airways said I looked more Kenyan than Cameroonian, and it reminded me of the fact that some time ago I was told that I looked like an Indian. When I reached Jomo Kenyatta Airport in the morning, I waited for two hours and I was told by immigration that they hadn’t received their copy of my authorization, and given that it was a weekend, they weren’t sure when it’d come, so the Goethe-Institut in Nairobi had the original copy delivered to the airport. Things were cleared up and I was given a visa. The guy behind me gave his passport and the lady at the immigration said “you have a Cameroonian passport, please stand aside.” I felt disturbed by her utterance. What was wrong with having a Cameroonian passport? and it got me thinking about the mental and physical boundaries that we create and estrange one another.

The first thing I notice in Nairobi is that taxis are not colored yellow as in Cameroon, and that the steering wheel is on the right. Simiyu, the taxi driver tells me to put on my seat belt and I am surprised. No taxi driver in Cameroon has ever told me to put on my seatbelt. He is so kind and friendly and tells me everything I want to know, and this hospitability is as well shown by most of the people I meet in Kenya. As we head to the Intercontinental Hotel, I realize that Mombasa Road looks like some streets in Douala. The only difference being that there are no potholes on Mombasa Road.

The security and orderliness in Nairobi is really commendable and it would be nice if Cameroon could emulate some of it. On several occasions during the festival, many people told me that they thought that Cameroon was a French speaking country and they were surprised by the fact that I spoke English, and it is a sad issue because it attests to the way Cameroon sells her image internationally. For example, while Gabon advertises her tourism industry in English on CNN, Cameroon advertises her tourism industry in French on Africa 24. Not that I have anything against Africa 24, but seriously…

Finally, I'd like to thank the Goethe-Institut in Cameroon and Kenya for giving me the opportunity to take part in this culturally enriching program.